On this particular Thursday, I walked into my driveway and glanced toward the mailboxes on the boulevard. Mine and the neighbor lady's happened to be next to each other. I unlocked the house door, then returned out and made way to the mailbox. I noticed the neighbor pulling in. She killed the car and stepped out, heading directly to the box.
"Hey, neighbor," she said, grinning. I said hi back. She collected her mail. She walked back to her door and inside. She paused, sorting the mail. She tossed it to her kitchen counter and returned outside, walking back over to me. I was just completing collecting my stuff. She was grinning again.
"I gotta be sure this gets inside," I said.
"I'll walk with you," she decided.
We set off. She walked even with me, and I stole brief glances at her in addition to paying attention to my path back to the front door. I realized she was maybe a few years older than I first guessed. We made the door and I duplicated her sorting process. I stepped back outside, pulling the door mostly closed.
"If I requested dinner and a movie tomorrow night, would you say yes?" the woman asked me.
She had just walked over and asked me on a date, near as I could tell. "How often does a date happen that easy?" I asked in return.
"It's for real," she assured me, laughing..
"I'll have to accept, since there's a first time for everything," I said. "Where are we going?"
"I'm cooking. The movie is on the house, too," she told me. We hashed some things out and she told me to come knocking around six tomorrow night. We went our separate ways. I didn't sleep overly deeply that night, even after a shower and TV.
Friday
My day job as a proofreader for a local newspaper wasn't glamorous, but the bills got paid. I planned to ask the lady what her days were filled with during dinner tonight. I was still wondering what about me it was that had drawn her attention, and prompted her invitation. Or whether she thought I'd be a good candidate for some things she might have in mind.
Upon leaving work, walking back toward home, I picked up a fruit assortment at a nearby produce vendor. I showered and changed into more casual clothes. I wandered to the neighbor lady's house at six sharp and knocked on the door.
It opened, and the lady in question grinned at me and told me to come in. I entered, and was immediately met by the smell of cooking food. I smelled something in the oven, and took a matter of seconds to realize the main course was in a crockpot on the counter. It smelled like some variety of chicken. The oven probably had potatoes and maybe some bread baking. It was one of those dual-oven appliances, so a person could cook two foods at once, at different temperatures.
I stood in the kitchen. To my immediate right was the living room, with a couch, coffee table, a pair of recliners, and an end table between them. There was a TV stand holding a flat panel opposite the couch, but the recliners were angled so users could see the screen just as well. In the far living room wall were two doors, one bed and one bath, I guessed. There was an open area through a opening in that far wall, with stairs leading down. Probably a laundry area, family room, storage, and a second bath. It might have had the layout to support a second bedroom down there.
I wandered over and seated myself in one of the recliners. The lady had stretched out on the couch. In another twenty minutes, she plated a great-looking pork loin from the crockpot. Out of the oven came the bread and baked potatoes. I had already placed the small fruit basket on the table.
We sat down to eat, quiet at first. Then the lady of the house broke the silence. "We made a dinner date, and we don't have introductions out of the way. I'm Emma," she said.
"Well, Emma, it's nice to meet you. I'm Will. I don't go by Bill or any variations of Bill," I said. "Everyone does, and always has, called me Will."
"It's nice to meet you too," Emma replied. "So Will it is."
The food was nothing to scoff at, close to as fine as home-cooked gets, and I ate and enjoyed. Emma ate and was comfortably full. We each sampled the fruit basket. Listening to Emma engaging in the brief conversation, her voice was feminine, but just a little throaty, very likable and pleasant to hear.
While I was about five-seven and at most medium build, Emma was a hefty chunk of figure. She was about five-eight, with stocky thighs, not flabby thunder thighs, but pleasantly broad. Her torso was wide, more than fat; at worst, she might have had one broad roll of soft cushion drooping at her waistline. There was no doubt she sported D-cup breasts, wearing them well and carrying them easily. They packed her t-shirt well.
She had a mop of curly, sand-colored hair on top of her head; it was trimmed short around her ears, thick, loosely curled ringlets and standing high across the top of her head. From the view yesterday, I knew it was curly and half as long at the back. She wore it well, and I guessed she was in her late thirties. She had soft brown eyes, and her smile made arguments and objections dissolve.
Perhaps most prominent was her backside. It filled out the jeans she was wearing very, very well. Her cheeks were round and protruded way out off her waist. They were also very broad, pushing out probably three or four inches beyond her hips. If I was to guess where a ruler would read to take it all in, I would have bet 30 inches or more. I decided that along with her hairstyle, her ass was my favorite feature. For some reason, I enjoyed big butts. It had been a realization I'd come to in the last couple years.
Truth be told, both of us had been studying each other discreetly during the meal. I could see her mind turning things over. I hoped I wasn't putting out the same vibe. But it also made me wonder if she had more in mind than dinner and a movie for one night.
The silence was parted again. "So what kind of day job do you have?" Emma asked. I told her I was a proofreader for a newspaper. I turned the question and asked her, "What do you do?"
She responded, "I'm a content supplier and writer for a fetish internet site."
"More fun than proofreading," I noted. "You like it?"
"I have a staff of five people, but I started the site and been doing it six years," Emma answered. "I enjoy it. There are plenty of jobs I see as worse, and I'd rather be where I've been, than do any of them."
"Good for you. I have a talent for decent sentence structure and I like to read. There are jobs I wouldn't want, too, and I'll take this over them, just like you said. By the way, the meal is excellent," I added.
"Trying for brownie points. Thank you," Emma said.
"You're welcome," I replied. We both cleaned our plates. I took mine to the sink and rinsed it. Then I asked if Emma wanted anything out of the fruit basket. She told me to put half of what was left in the crisper drawer in the fridge. So I took the basket over and began putting things into the drawer.. I stood, stepped back, and closed the fridge when I was done. Emma had been at the sink rinsing her plate and getting the crockpot soaking.
As I let the door close, I felt Emma ease behind me and drop her hands to my waist. She whispered in my ear, "Thank you for coming." With her chin resting on my shoulder, she moved and her lips sucked gently at my neck. I started when I felt it. Then I realized it felt very nice, and I slumped, and leaned into Emma, and let her have her way.
"There you go. Relax," Emma said. She continued for a couple more minutes, then turned me loose. "Would you scrub the crockpot out?" she asked me.
"Mmmm-hmm. Sucker me in, and give me the shit detail," I said. "Not your favorite job to do?" I asked. "Nope," was her reply.
